Fair Terms and a Villain's Mind
by Hannah7876
Summary: Grissom is still on the outs with Lady Heather. Is it too late to make amends? COMPLETE
1. Part 1

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

He had been on his way home when he got the call.  
  
  
_"Grissom."  
  
"It's Brass. Look, I know you're coming off overtime as it is, but I thought you'd want to hear about this one."  
  
"Alright. Bugs?"  
  
"No. Assault... at Lady Heather's."  
  
"Serious?"  
  
"Yeah. We're looking at attempted murder. The vic is beaten beyond recognition, not expected to regain consciousness."  
  
Something in Brass's voice caused the first tendrils of fear to creep into his mind.  
  
"Not Heather?"  
  
"No ID yet... but, Gil, the physical description..."  
  
"I'll meet you there."  
  
"Somehow I thought you'd say that."_  
  
  
He tried to will himself to remain calm - _You don't know it's Heather._ - but by the time he arrived at Lady Heather's Dominion, the usually unflappable Grissom was a bundle of raw nerves.   
  
He'd had the length of the drive to berate himself for the way he'd handled that warrant in the Chloe Samms case, and for not finding some way to make amends for having hurt her. Several weeks had passed since he'd last seen Lady Heather and during that time, he hadn't allowed himself to consider the possibility that he might not get the chance to tell her... He had wanted to give her some time, to allow the first flash of anger to cool. He'd been an idiot.  
  
Grissom took a deep breath and got out of his Tahoe.   
  
In spite of his distress, he quickly assessed the scene...   
  
A large area of the driveway and grounds was taped off. So the assault most likely took place outside. Paramedics and ambulance were gone, the victim already removed to the hospital - intensive care, no doubt.   
  
Several uniforms, but none of his people on site yet. Who was up tonight? Cath, Warrick, maybe Sara.  
  
No obvious sign of Brass, though Grissom had spotted his car. Must be inside... talking to the staff probably... or Heather? He should go inside and find him, get a sense of what they knew, but he moved away from the house in the direction of the yellow tape.   
  
He saw blood every day. He'd certainly seen more than this at any number of crime scenes - but it hadn't belonged to...   
  
_You don't know it's Heather's._  
  
His jaw clenched, his gaze traveled down and then back to the house. Brass.  
  
One of the uniformed officers moved toward him.  
  
"Is everything alright, Dr. Grissom?"  
  
"Any ID on the victim yet?"  
  
"I'm not sure, Sir."  
  
"Where's Detective Brass?"  
  
"He's inside."  
  
"I want to know the minute my team arrives. Is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Grissom stalked toward the house, leaving the confused officer staring after him.  
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	2. Part 2

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

He found Brass in the foyer, talking to a tall blonde in a black PVC miniskirt and deep purple corset.   
  
"Jim?"  
  
The detective looked up at the sound of his name, saw what was in Grissom's eyes, and turned back to the young woman.  
  
"Excuse me for a minute."  
  
He moved away from her, holding his hands out in a calming gesture.   
  
"We have an ID. It's not her."  
  
It took a beat for the information to register, Grissom releasing a loud sigh when he finally managed to process it.   
  
"Who is she?"  
  
"Name is Lyla Morgan. She's 24, been working here for about 4 months."  
  
"Any idea who might have done this?"  
  
"Nope. No boyfriend." Brass gestured toward the blonde. "Madeline here tells me her clients were all pretty tame..."  
  
Grissom's gaze followed the wave of Brass's hand.  
  
"Madeline? Where's Heather?"  
  
The detective raised an eyebrow.  
  
"It seems Lady Heather is on a plane... was anyway. Her flight from Boston landed just over an hour ago, so she should be here anytime now."  
          
Grissom pursed his lips and moved away from Brass, turning his attention to the woman.  
  
"Madeline?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."  
  
If the name meant anything to her, she didn't show it.  
  
"Has anyone seen anything unusual tonight?"  
  
"Now there's a question," Brass muttered.  
  
Grissom shot him a look, but otherwise ignored the comment.  
  
"Not that I know of," she answered, looking from Grissom to the detective and back again.  
  
"I suppose it's useless to ask if you might have heard any screams?" Brass offered.  
  
Madeline tilted her head and offered him a rueful smile.  
  
"Next question?"  
  
"You can't think of anyone who might want to hurt Lyla Morgan?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Like I was telling the detective, Lyla was quiet, kept to herself a lot, but she was a really nice girl. Got along with everyone here. The clients liked her. Moved to Vegas about 6 months ago from someplace on the Gulf coast. She hasn't been here long enough to make any enemies."  
  
A uniformed officer approached the trio before Grissom could form his next question.  
  
"Dr. Grissom?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You said you wanted to know when your team arrived."  
  
"Yes. Thank you." He turned to Madeline. "If you'll excuse me..."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"Sure."  
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	3. Part 3

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle were already gloved and examining the scene when Grissom walked back outside.  
  
"Cath..."  
  
"Gil? Aren't you supposed to be off tonight?"  
  
"Brass called me."  
  
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  
  
Sara, crouching by a pool of blood, looked up.  
  
"Why would Brass call you in for this?"  
  
"Because he knew I'd want him to." He went on before she could ask the next question. "Where's Warrick?"  
  
"Back at the lab," Catherine answered. "Why?"  
  
"Call him. Tell him I want him at the hospital. If we can get anything usable from the vic, we'll need to do it soon."  
  
"I can go," Sara offered, coming to her feet. "With you two here..."  
  
Grissom cut her off.  
  
"No. I need you here. I'm just eyes on this... no hands."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He hesitated, lips pursed, and then met her eyes.  
  
"Because I'm too close to the case."  
  
Catherine, who had been watching this exchange with interest, arched an eyebrow and nodded her approval.  
  
Sara was ready with her next question, but she lost Grissom's attention to a taxi pulling up in front of the house. Without a word, he moved away, heading straight for the brunette who was stepping out of the cab.  
  
Sara threw up her hands and turned to Catherine, shaking her head.  
  
"What just happened?"  
  
Catherine Willows nodded towards the new arrival.  
  
"There's the answer to your next question."  
  
Sara shook her head, confused.  
  
"I don't..."  
  
"She's the reason Grissom's too close to this case."  
  
The younger woman turned her full attention to the object of Grissom's interest. She was pretty, _very_ pretty... long dark hair, green eyes, full lips. She had a nice figure, too, and she was certainly showing it off to advantage in fitted black leather pants and a snug charcoal gray sweater.          
                                                                                  
"Who is she?"  
  
"That is Lady Heather."  
  
"_Lady_ Heather?"  
  
"Yep."                          
  
"She's...?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"And _Grissom_...?"  
  
"It certainly looks like it."  
  
They fell silent, both women watching their boss with undisguised interest as he reached the dominatrix.          
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	4. Part 4

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Gil Grissom was a precise man, his words and actions carefully chosen, but tonight he found himself out of his depth. His fear at the prospect of losing Heather had surpassed his fear of allowing her to get too close. Now, at the site of her, his sole focus was to reach her. He needed to touch her, feel her in his arms if she would allow it - reassure himself that his fears had been unfounded. He understood that there was no rationality in it, but for once that didn't seem to matter.  
  
"Heather."  
  
She turned to him at the sound of her name, drawing herself up as he approached and fixing him with a look of studied indifference. Under other circumstances, it would have stopped him... but not tonight. He stopped only when he was close enough to feel the heat of her body. He took her face in his hands before she could protest, staring intently into her eyes. There had been ice in her stare, but it quickly melted into confusion, and then concern.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"There was an assault. One of your girls is in a coma."  
  
She drew in a deep breath and her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Lyla."   
  
It was not a question.   
Grissom raised an eyebrow.  
  
"How did you...?"  
  
"Because you thought it was me."  
  
She watched the corners of his mouth quirk in a rueful smile and matched it with one of her own.  
  
"I'm fine." He nodded, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Tell me about Lyla."  
  
He allowed his hands to drop from her face, but only as far as her shoulders, unwilling to relinquish the contact.  
  
"There's not much to tell yet. She was beaten badly. I'm told her face was unrecognizable, but the ambulance had gone by the time I got here."  
  
"Prognosis?"  
  
"Not good."  
  
Heather stiffened, lips forming a hard line.  
  
"Were you close?"  
  
"Not particularly. She was guarded... but I liked her."  
  
Grissom's lips curled in a lopsided smile.  
  
"Don't tell me there's someone you can't figure out?" he teased.  
  
She returned the smile.  
  
"I only said we weren't close."  
  
"True."  
  
Their gazes locked and silence fell between them for several long moments.  
  
"Heather... forgive me." His hands came back to her face. "I've spent the majority of my adult life alone, but I've never really been lonely... until I thought I'd lost you."  
  
Her features softened.  
  
"It seems you found the right words."  
  
She moved forward, bringing herself impossibly close without actually touching him. Her lips brushed over his in a delicate kiss.  
  
"Gil."   
  
It was Brass.  
  
"Yes?" He answered without taking his eyes from Heather's.  
  
"Do you think you might like to come back to work now?"  
  
Grissom's head snapped around to shoot Brass an annoyed yet sheepish look, while Lady Heather tried with only moderate success to suppress a smile.   
  
"Captain Brass," she purred. "It's always a pleasure."  
  
"Lady Heather. Having trouble with your staff again?"          
  
"I see nothing escapes your notice." She turned her attention back to Grissom. "What can I do for you?"  
  
They both ignored the detective's snort.  
  
"Ideally," Grissom began, "I'd like prints and swabs from everyone here tonight. We can't rule anyone out at this point."  
  
"That could pose an interesting challenge." A pause. "Let me see what I can do."  
  
She moved past him toward the house, allowing her body to brush against him as she went.  
  
Brass raised an eyebrow at the sharp intake of breath, but refrained from further comment, as both men watched Lady Heather enter her dominion.           
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	5. Part 5

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Grissom was still staring after Lady Heather, but Brass turned to study his friend.   
  
"You couldn't just get a sports car?"  
  
Grissom rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the detective.  
  
"I don't want a sports car."  
  
"But you do want Lady Heather."  
  
The insistent tone of Brass's cell phone interrupted before the CSI could form a response.  
  
"Brass... Yeah, thanks. Listen, stay with the body until it goes to the morgue, and make sure the hospital staff don't try to clean her up. I want a shot at any evidence that's left."  
  
He flipped the phone shut and announced, "Our assault just became murder."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Sara Sidle stood perfectly still, looking up at the front door of the imposing house. Her gaze had followed the retreating form of Lady Heather to the entrance and hadn't moved since the door closed behind her. Catherine ended her phone call with Warrick and cast a concerned look in Sara's direction.  
  
"You ok?"  
  
"Huh?" The brunette shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. "Yeah. I... I'm fine." A pause. "We should get to work."  
  
"Sara..."  
  
"I'm fine, Catherine. Let's just get this over with."  
  
Catherine Willows held up her hands in a gesture of surrender.  
  
"Whatever you say."  
  
                          
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
          
  
"Well, I'm pretty sure this wasn't random, but at the moment I got nothing to go on to indicate otherwise," Brass grumbled. "I guess we'll see what a background check on Lyla Morgan turns up."  
  
Grissom's expression was pensive and his manner mildly distracted.  
  
"Suppose Lyla Morgan wasn't the target," he said finally.  
  
"Then who?"  
  
"Heather. You said yourself the physical resemblance was enough to mistake the two."  
  
"I suppose it's possible, but our vic was beaten up close and personal. The perp would have realized he had the wrong girl pretty quick. If your girlfriend was the target, why put Lyla Morgan in a coma?"  
  
"A warning?" Grissom suggested, head cocked and eyebrows raised.  
  
          
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
  
  
"Hey, Catherine. Have a look at this."  
  
"What have you got?"  
  
Sara pointed around the corner of a well-manicured hedge to a tiny pile of cigarette butts and a well-formed shoe print nearby.  
  
"Looks like it just might be our lucky night," Catherine smiled.  
  
"I'll get some pictures and then cast the print."  
  
"Nice catch."  
  
Sara tossed her a half smile as she knelt to place a marker next to the area before snapping several shots from different angles. When she was finished, Catherine set to work bagging the cigarette butts while her companion compared a tape measure against the shoe print.  
  
"Looks like a work boot. I'd say it's about a size 10. "  
  
"Let's hope it's not just Lady Heather's gardener."  
  
Sara drew in a breath at the mention of the name, but otherwise gave no indication that she had even heard the comment.  
  
"Hey, Cath."  
  
Grissom.  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"How's it going?"  
  
"Not bad." She held up the bag with the half dozen butts. "We might just have a little DNA from our perp."  
  
"As it happens, that's what I wanted to see you about." Cath raised her eyebrows in a question, but he turned to Sara who was crouching next to the shoe print pouring plaster. "You have everything under control here?"  
  
"Sure." She answered without looking at him.   
  
He seemed puzzled for a moment, but shrugged it off and turned back to Catherine.  
  
"I'd like you to collect comparison samples from Heather's staff."  
  
"What about tonight's clients?"  
  
"Anyone who's willing to cooperate."  
  
"I'm on it."  
  
"I'll walk up with you. I need to talk with Lady Heather."                  
  
At this Sara did look up, but Grissom failed to notice.  
Catherine waited until they were out of earshot before allowing herself a smirk and glancing at her friend's profile.  
                                                                                          
"I didn't realize you knew Lady Heather so well."  
  
He drew in a breath, bracing himself for the conversation that he knew Catherine would not abandon easily. He kept his eyes directed forward.  
  
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Cath."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure ... I just don't think most of them are quite so interesting."  
  
"Do you think we might focus on the job and leave my personal life out of this... at least for the moment?"  
  
"You tell me. Can we?"  
  
He sighed, finally stopping and turning to face her.  
  
"Cath, you of all people..."  
  
She stopped him before he could finish the thought.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry. I just... I'm not used to seeing you so..." She trailed off, reaching for the right word.  
  
"Human?" he offered.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact."   
  
She gave him a smile and watched as he shot her a look over the rims of his glasses.  
  
"Don't get used to it."     
                                                                              
He turned away, and she found herself looking after him, hurrying to catch up as he held the door for her.  
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	6. Part 6

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Lady Heather was in the front hall with Madeline.   
Her street clothes had been replaced by an elaborate corset and flowing skirt. The trappings of her profession would perhaps lend an air of authority in obtaining the cooperation of her clients.  
  
_Not that she seems like she'd need any help there_, Catherine thought. She was definitely a formidable woman.  
  
"Ms. Willows. It's good to see you again."  
  
"Same here."  
  
She glanced at Grissom and saw the question in his eyes.  
  
"My staff won't be a problem. They'll be happy to give you whatever you need."  
  
"And your clients?" he asked.  
  
"We're fortunate, in that it's a slow night... only a hand full of regulars. I doubt you'll get anything useful, but I should be able to convince most of them to cooperate. I'm sure several will be reluctant, but I suspect you can get what you need from their paraphernalia. I'll make sure nothing is disturbed after their sessions until your people have a chance to collect the items you want."  
  
Catherine noted Grissom's appreciative look. A basic knowledge of his field was definitely a point in the lady's favor... though, judging from Grissom's earlier reaction, she didn't need any help there either.  
  
When Grissom spoke, it was Catherine he addressed.   
  
"Alright, Cath. Go ahead and get started with the available staff. I've paged Nicky, so he should be here to help you work the rooms by the time you're ready." His eyes went to Lady Heather as he continued. "I need to talk with you as soon as you get Catherine settled in."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, but only inclined her head in agreement before turning her attention to Catherine.  
  
"Ms. Willows..."  
  
"Catherine."  
  
"Catherine." She offered the blonde a warm smile. "I believe Detective Brass has most of my staff in the sun room. You can join him there, or you can set up in one of the sitting rooms if you'd prefer."  
  
"Is there a sitting room off the sun room?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Yes, but I believe that one has been commandeered for interviews."  
  
"Ah. Well, I guess I'll get them while they're waiting. The sun room it is."  
  
The dominatrix nodded and spoke over her shoulder to Madeline.   
  
"Maddy, would you mind?"  
  
"Of course, Lady Heather." The young woman stepped forward and addressed Catherine. "I'll show you back."  
  
Catherine nodded her thanks to Lady Heather, then shot a glance at Grissom as she followed Madeline along the hallway. Heather looked after them for a moment and then turned her attention to Grissom.  
  
"Is my office alright, or would you prefer to go upstairs?"  
  
"Your office is fine."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and murmured a single word as she turned away and started along the hallway... "Pity."  
  
Grissom shook his head and followed after her, lips quirking into a lopsided smile.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
  
Nick Stokes got out of his Tahoe, collected his kit from the back and headed up the driveway, pausing when he spotted Sara.  
  
"Hey, Sara. What's up?"  
  
"Nick." She paused, nodded. "Nasty assault. The vic was in a coma last I heard."  
  
"Who's the vic?"  
  
Sara shrugged.  
  
"One of the working girls."  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow but avoided comment.  
  
"Got anything?"  
  
"Foot print, few cigarette butts."  
  
"Not bad. Any suspects?"  
  
"None that I know of. Catherine is collecting prints and swabs from the staff. My guess is she's paying attention to their footwear, too."  
  
"What about the clients?"  
  
"Good luck," Sara snorted. "Can you imagine anyone wanting to advertise coming here?"  
  
"Hey, you'd be surprised what some people get off on."  
  
"No argument _there_."  
  
Nick regarded her for a long moment. There was a bitter note in her voice that surprised him. He almost formulated a question and then discarded the notion as she went on.  
  
"I still can't imagine the clients being too cooperative. I'm betting we'll strike out."  
  
"I don't know. If Lady Heather's staff is cooperating, maybe she can convince her clients to go along. She seems like she could be pretty persuasive." He didn't notice Sara's jaw clench and went on. "I think she's probably a woman who's used to getting what she wants, so if she decides... What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Confusion clouded Nick's features for a few seconds and then a flash of understanding caused him to lower his gaze.   
  
"Um... you know what Grissom wants with me?"  
  
"I suspect he wants you to help Catherine with the collection."  
  
"Oka-ay... you sure? I mean, I don't mind but it seems strange to page me just for that when he's right here."  
  
"He's not handling evidence on this case."  
  
Nick's eyebrows shot up, and he regretted raising the issue with Sara at all, given the implication. He was casting around for the quickest means of excusing himself, when one of the uniformed officers interrupted the conversation.  
  
"Excuse me. Stokes?"  
  
"Yeah," Nick turned away from Sara a little too quickly. "What do you need, man?"  
  
"I was told to take you in to Catherine Willows when you showed up."  
  
"Sure thing." He shot a quick glance back at Sara. "Later."  
  
"Later."   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
  
  
Gil Grissom entered the plush office behind Heather and closed the door. She spoke without turning to face him.  
  
"Any word on Lyla's condition?"  
  
He didn't answer right away. He took a moment to move forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. She sighed and let herself lean back into him.  
  
"She's gone?'  
  
"Yes."  
  
She closed her eyes, allowing herself another moment to feel him behind her before pulling away and twisting to meet his gaze.  
  
"Do you have anything?"  
  
"Possibly. I think we might have a DNA sample."  
  
She nodded.                                          
  
"You won't get a match here."  
          
He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You can't be sure."                  
  
"I'm sure." She met his eyes with a confident stare. "Lyla was running from something when she came here. I think it caught up with her."  
  
"Heather, I'm not sure that this is about Lyla."  
  
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.  
  
"What else would it be about?" She paused, studied him for a long moment. "You don't think this is about _me_?"  
  
"I don't think we can afford to discount the possibility."  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Gil..."  
  
"Look, I haven't seen Lyla Morgan, but it seems obvious that the similarities between the two of you are striking. If someone expecting you saw her..."  
  
"Yes," she interrupted, "our basic physical descriptions would match... but we were hardly twins. Even in shadows, the mistake would have been obvious as soon as anyone got close enough to see her face."  
  
"It might have been too late to turn back... or she could be a warning that you're next."  
  
Heather took a deep breath, rested a hand against his chest.  
  
"I appreciate your concern, but I believe you might be letting it interfere with your judgment."  
  
He opened his mouth to argue, but what could he say? He certainly couldn't claim objectivity. She watched him consider his response, a smile flickering across her lips when she saw surrender in his eyes. She moved closer and felt his arms curl around her waist.  
  
"Of course, if you're determined to keep me close until this is resolved..." She let the words trail off, tilting her face up to his.  
  
"I'm determined to keep you close much longer than that," he whispered.   
  
"Are you?" She leaned into him, her eyes locked on his.  
  
"Yes." His mouth brushed hers before drawing back a fraction, eyes still fixed on her emerald gaze. "If you're willing."  
  
"You might be able to convince me."   
  
A playful smile curved along her lips, and he found it impossible to resist the temptation to cover them with his own.   
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	7. Part 7

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Warrick Brown arrived at the hospital just minutes before David. The assistant coroner found him talking to the uniformed officer Brass had assigned to watch the body.   
  
"Warrick, didn't expect to see you here. They called this in as a routine transport."  
  
"Yeah, the trauma staff didn't realize what they had."  
  
"What did they have?"  
  
"Any luck, they had key evidence in a homicide investigation."  
  
David nodded.  
  
"Alright. Let's get her in and see what we can find."  
  
"Sounds good." Warrick paused, considered. "I think I'll call Gris. See if he wants to get in on this. You wanna give me an ETA?"  
  
"Should have her back and ready to go in a couple of hours."  
  
"Sounds good. Listen, I'm out. I'll meet you there."  
  
"Ok by me."  
  
Warrick left David to deal with the body of Lyla Morgan while he flipped his phone open and dialed Grissom.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
  
  
Grissom pulled back from the woman in his arms with considerable reluctance, hands still tangled in dark silky hair. He opened his mouth to speak but the ringing of a cell phone drew his attention. Shrugging, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the instrument and allowed Heather to move out of his embrace.  
  
"Grissom." A pause. "Yeah, I would. When do I need to be there?" Another pause, this one shorter than the first. "That should work." He glanced at Heather, who was watching him with interest, and cocked an apologetic eyebrow. "No, I'll meet you there." And with that he flipped the phone shut and tucked it back into his jacket.  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
"Soon."  
  
Her eyebrows arched. The question was in her eyes, but he paused for a long moment before providing an answer.  
  
"Autopsy."  
  
She drew in a heavy breath, nodding but offering no comment. Her eyes moved away from his, going to the door at the sound of a soft knock.  
  
"Yes."  
  
The door opened several inches, and Madeline's face appeared.  
  
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Lady Heather, but you asked me to tell you when Piper finished her session..."  
  
"It's all right, Maddy." She turned her attention back to Grissom. "I need to see to this."  
  
He inclined his head in acknowledgment.  
  
"Don't let me stop you. As a matter of fact, I think I'll use the opportunity to get a progress report."  
  
He followed her out of the office and down the dimly lit hallway, heading back outside for the crime scene while she climbed the stairs to the second floor.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        
  
  
"Sara."  
  
"Grissom." Her tone was sullen, a chill in her voice.  
  
"How's it coming?"  
  
"Just finishing up, actually."  
  
"Anything new?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
She refused to meet his eyes, choosing instead to busy herself with gathering what evidence she'd collected. He watched her silently for a time, lips pursed, considering.  
  
"Sara." His tone was sharp enough to make her look up. "Do we have a problem?"  
  
"Should we?"  
  
His look was that of a man who is fast running out of patience.  
  
"Do we have a problem?"  
  
She looked down, shifting uncomfortably.  
  
"No," she muttered. "No problem."  
  
He nodded, but regarded her warily.  
  
"Good... I want you to pack up and get the evidence back to the lab. Tell Greg I want a rush on those cigarette butts, and tell him to get ready to run comparison samples as soon as Nicky and Cath get back."  
  
"Ok. Anything else?"  
  
"No. That's it."  
  
He watched as she turned away from him, but quickly turned back.  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
He released a resigned sigh and met her eyes.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I..." She shook her head, looked down. "Nothing," she whispered finally.  
  
He stood still for a brief moment, waiting, but she did not look up again.  
  
"Sara," he began gently, "I don't..."  
  
"I know." She cut him off a little too quickly. "I just... I thought... You know what? It's not important." She straightened, holding his gaze with a challenging stare. "I should get back."  
  
He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips, but said nothing. He allowed her to turn away first, waiting until she had retreated to the back of the Tahoe before moving back toward the house.   
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	8. Part 8

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Catherine Willows looked up as Grissom entered the sun room.  
  
"What's up?" she asked.  
  
"You tell me."  
  
"Well, we have all the employees and a grand total of three clients. No matches on the shoe print, by the way."   
  
Grissom nodded as though this didn't surprise him.  
  
"Where's Nick?"  
  
"He's upstairs processing one of the rooms."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"I think there were three. I'm on my way up to join him. And you?"  
  
"I assume Brass told you our vic died?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm meeting Warrick at the morgue. I sent Sara back to the lab to get Greg started."  
  
"Ok. We'll get him a few comparison samples to run as soon as we're done here."  
  
"Good. I want them processed as soon as possible."  
  
"Think we'll get a hit?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Heather doesn't think so."  
  
"Well, if these guys are regulars, I'd say she's probably had some time to get a read on them. I'm betting she's pretty accurate in that department."  
  
Grissom's mouth quirked into a smile.  
  
"That's a safe bet," he muttered.  
  
Catherine chuckled.  
  
"Must be disconcerting."  
  
He considered.  
  
"A little."  
  
"_Just_ a little?"  
  
"Weren't you headed up to help Nicky?"  
  
"Yeah." She smiled and moved past him, turning around when she reached the door. "She should be good for you." With that she turned and left him staring after her, shaking his head.  
                          
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Sara Sidle walked into the DNA lab to find Greg Sanders studying a computer printout while nodding his head to Marilyn Manson's _mOBSCENE_. She walked over and switched off the cd player, not in the mood to compete with the music for his attention.  
  
"Sara. What's up?"  
  
"I need you to process cigarette butts from a crime scene for DNA."  
  
"For you? Sure." He offered her a lopsided grin. "I should be able to get to them in a couple of hours."  
  
"Grissom wants a rush on them. Cath and Nick are bringing in comparison samples soon, and he wants the results ASAP."  
  
"Grissom _does_ realize I have other evidence to run, doesn't he?" Greg asked with a decidedly grumpy tone. "I've been wading through a backlog from the day shift for the past four hours."  
  
"I don't think he cares."  
  
"And what puts this at the top of the list?"                          
  
Her mouth tightened and a hard look came into her eyes.  
  
"This case is... personal."  
  
"What is it?" he asked, obviously intrigued.  
  
"A woman was beaten at Lady Heather's Dominion."  
  
"The fetish club?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And this is personal how exactly?"  
  
She sighed and rolled her eyes.  
  
"Grissom apparently knows Lady Heather..." she seemed to search for the word, "... well."  
  
"Grissom up close and personal with a dom? Really?"  
  
Sara offered no verbal response, only a forced smile and a slight inclination of her head.  
  
"Ok-ay. I wouldn't have pegged him as a whips and chains kinda guy, but I have to say I'm impressed."  
  
"Just run the samples, Greg."  
  
She dumped the evidence bag onto his printout and was out the door before he had a chance to protest the unfairness of his workload.  
                  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Brass had little more than he'd started with after talking to each member of Lady Heather's staff. If a history on Lyla Morgan didn't reveal anymore than tonight's interviews had, there would be next to nothing to go on in this investigation. Of course, he hadn't yet talked to Lady Heather herself. The search for the mistress of the dominion didn't take him far. He found her in the sun room with Grissom.  
  
"If I'm interrupting I could wait in the hall."  
  
The couple to turned to find Brass standing just inside the doorway. Grissom regarded him with an irritated look, but Lady Heather smiled pleasantly and gestured for him to come in.  
  
"Detective Brass. Surely you know I'm always delighted to see you. Please, join us."  
  
"Lady Heather." He acknowledged the invitation, if not the sarcasm in her tone, by moving forward into the room. "If you have a minute, I'd like to ask you a few questions."  
  
"Of course. What is it you'd like to know?"  
  
"What can you tell me about Lyla Morgan?"   
  
"Not much, I'm afraid. She wasn't particularly forthcoming."  
  
"You must require _some_ information from your employees."  
  
"Would you like her social security number?"  
  
"Lady Heather, a woman was murdered here tonight."  
  
"I'm well aware of that."  
  
"If you know of anything that could help us..."  
  
"You'd be the first to know." A pause. " Lyla was... closed off. She offered nothing beyond what was necessary."  
  
"What do you know?"   
  
"Lyla had only been in Nevada a short time. She came here just over six months ago."  
  
"From where?"  
  
"I'm not sure, exactly. Somewhere along the Gulf Coast."  
  
"And she found her way straight to you."  
  
"No. It took her the better part of two months to make her way to my dominion."  
  
"So... November?"  
  
"That's about right."  
  
"And what _exactly_ did she do here?"  
  
"She worked online until recently."  
  
"And recently?"  
  
"She wanted more direct contact with clients. I'd just finished training her."  
  
"Did she have any regulars?"  
  
"Hardly. I doubt she'd seen more than a dozen clients in total, and none more than once thus far."  
  
"Friends?"  
  
"Maddy and I knew her better than anyone else here."  
  
"Personal relationships outside your dominion?"  
  
"As I said, she was closed off. There were none that I know of, but she wasn't the type to confide in anyone. She feared any measure of vulnerability."  
  
"Heather..."  
  
Grissom had been silent up to this point, but the sound of his voice reminded both the dominatrix and the detective of his presence. Both turned to look at him as he went on.  
  
"You said she was running from something when she came here. Any idea what?"  
  
"Nothing beyond conjecture."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"A man."  
  
"Husband?"  
  
She shrugged.   
  
"Husband, boyfriend, father..."  
                                                  
"Abusive?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"That's my guess."  
  
"That doesn't make sense," Brass grumbled, rejoining the discussion. "Why choose your line of work if she was trying to escape abuse?"  
  
The dominatrix regarded him for a moment, and when she spoke it was with the tone one might use to explain something to a simple child.  
  
"What happens here isn't about violence."  
  
"Well, Lady Heather, for a non-violent profession, you certainly have enough employees turn up dead."  
  
She arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Life is full of ironies, Detective Brass."  
  
The detective cocked his head and produced an acerbic smile.   
  
"I'm not a big fan of irony."  
  
"Then you must find your job taxing."  
                                                  
Grissom pre-empted whatever response Brass might have offered.  
  
"I take it Lyla was dominant with her clients?"  
  
"Yes. She insisted on it."  
  
He nodded.   
  
"So if an autopsy revealed scarring... "  
  
"It wouldn't be work related."  
  
He nodded again, considering.  
  
"Shouldn't you be going?" she asked.   
  
He glanced at his watch.  
  
"Yeah, I should." A pause. "Can I speak with you for a minute before I go?"  
  
"Of course. I'll walk you out." She turned to Brass. "If you'll excuse me for a moment?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?" he asked.  
  
The dominatrix smiled and preceded Grissom from the room.   
  
  
Neither spoke during the short journey down the hall, Heather waiting for Grissom to begin the conversation and he preferring to wait until he could face her in the front hall.   
  
"Heather..." He turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. "I know you believe that what happened here has nothing to do with you, but I'm not convinced yet."  
  
"That doesn't surprise me, " she smiled. "You want me to be careful. I will."  
  
He held her gaze with a determined stare.  
  
"Don't patronize me. It doesn't become you."  
  
She produced a soft laugh, but held his gaze with only a hint of amusement in her eyes.  
  
"What would you like me to do?"  
  
" I'm not sure you're safe here."  
  
"Gil, I just got home. I have no intention of packing up and running off to a hotel simply because one of my employees was attacked."  
  
"If you're wrong..."  
  
"No." Her tone was firm, her stare now just as determined as his.  
  
He sighed, hands moving to cup her face.  
  
"Could I convince you to stay with me?"  
  
Her eyebrows arched and her lips curved in a teasing smile.  
  
"I suspect you might... but I make no promises about when."  
                                                  
"Heather..." he began, a thoroughly exasperated tone straining his voice.  
  
"Gil. I'm fine for the moment. The police are still here. I'm hardly all alone at the mercy of some faceless threat." He relaxed somewhat, admitting the logic of her argument thus far. "You have somewhere to be, and I have to deal with my staff. If you don't have anything solid by the end of the night, then we can revisit this."  
  
He wasn't pleased, but her tone offered no room for further discussion.  
  
"I'll be back as soon as we're finished," he warned.  
  
"I'd be disappointed if you weren't. We still have a great deal to discuss."  
  
He tilted his head to one side, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Yes, I suppose we do."  
  
  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	9. Part 9

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Doc Robbins and Warrick were already in the autopsy room when Grissom arrived. He moved into the room and stopped short when he caught sight of Lyla Morgan's corpse. He'd been aware of the general resemblance between this young woman and Heather, but seeing it for himself was far more disturbing than he might have thought. Long dark hair was fanned out along the slab and the face, beyond any kind of recognition, did nothing to reassure him of the differences between the two women. He paused for only a moment as the fear he'd felt earlier in the evening lurched through him again, then resumed his journey across the room.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," he said, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts.  
  
"Not a problem." Robbins regarded him with curiosity for a moment but declined to comment, instead launching into a discussion of his findings as Grissom joined him beside the corpse. "Manner of death was homicidal blunt trauma. The victim suffered a diffuse brain injury. The brain impacted against the inside of the skull repeatedly with each successive blow, causing severe swelling. There was also massive hemorrhaging inside the skull from a torn meningeal artery. The linear fracture across the temporal bone would account for that." He tilted the head to one side. "The bruising here behind the ear..."  
  
"Battle's Sign," Grissom offered.  
  
The coroner nodded, gesturing toward the base of the skull.  
  
"Resulting from a basilar skull fracture." He indicated the area around the eyes. "I can't be certain if the periorbital bruising is from the basal fracture as well or simply the result of direct facial trauma. My guess is both." He lifted an eyelid, inviting Warrick and Grissom to take note of the bleeding beneath the white of the eye. "Scleral hemorrhage. Also multiple scalp lacerations."  
  
"Looks like degloving," Grissom noted.  
  
"Degloving?" Warrick asked.  
  
"Literally a ripping of the scalp from it's bony cranial attachments," Robbins offered, "like stripping off a glove." He lifted a section of the scalp that had been torn away from the skull, then let it fall back into place. "Lower facial laceration," Robbins continued, pointing to a depression at the corner of the mouth. He traced a path from the eye socket out to the upper tip of the jaw bone along with a path across the nose. "X-rays show Type II and III Le Fort fractures, reflective of extensive facial trauma. Orbital fractures as well." He then lifted an arm, rolling it slightly to offer a better view of the area he was focusing on. "Defensive wounds here on the forearm and hand. Similar on the other arm. This contusion is particularly interesting..."  
  
Both Warrick and Grissom leaned in for a closer look.   
  
"That looks like the links of a chain," Warrick muttered.  
  
Robbins nodded.  
  
"It is. Looks like your perp wrapped chain around his hand and then struck the vic repeatedly about the head and face."  
  
"Damn!" A low exclamation from Warrick. "He did this with _his hands_? This guy was seriously out of control."  
  
"Or just serious about causing as much damage as possible," Grissom added. "Either way, this guy has a taste for violence that's hands on and personal." He focused his attention on Robbins. "Did you scrape under the nails?"  
  
"Yeah... found blood and skin."  
  
"I need the samples to go to DNA as soon as possible."  
  
"You can take 'em yourself, if you'd like."  
  
"Warrick?"  
  
"Yeah, no problem, " Warrick replied, still looking down at the corpse and shaking his head.  
  
"Any sign of sexual assault?" Grissom asked.  
  
"No. No semen present, no bruising or tearing."  
  
"Any scarring or signs of injury that would indicate long term abuse?"  
  
"Possibly. She's suffered a broken wrist, long healed. Also evidence of some damage to the rotator cuff in the shoulder and a fractured scapula."  
  
Grissom's eyebrows went up at that, but it was Warrick who offered comment.  
  
"He hit her in the back?"  
  
Grissom flashed on a mental image of a baseball bat being swung at this young woman's back, catching her unawares.  
  
"Someone might have..." Robbins acknowledged. "... or she could have fallen on it directly. It's also possible that force transmitted to the shoulder from a fall on an outstretched hand might have caused a fracture in the shoulder blade."  
  
"Recent?" Grissom asked.  
  
"I'd say within the last several years. She's also had her spleen removed. Could have ruptured as the result of a beating... might have been impact in an accident, as well."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
Robbins shook his head.  
  
"Isn't that enough?"  
  
"Too much," Grissom replied.   
  
He had to admit, Heather's theory that Lyla was the target of someone who had abused her in the past was starting to look plausible. There _was_ evidence of past trauma, and the severity and method of the beating suggested that this was personal. It also suggested a considerable amount of anger.  
  
  
_ Feedback is always appreciated._


	10. Part 10

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

**_Part 10_** Catherine Willows shut her field kit and sighed as she stood from her kneeling position next to Nick Stokes.  
  
"Well, that's it," she announced.  
  
"I guess we should get everything back to the lab then," Nick answered.  
  
"Yeah, Grissom wants a rush on it."  
  
"Catherine..." He trailed off.  
  
She arched her eyebrows and looked at him expectantly.  
  
"Grissom isn't handling evidence," he stammered, "and..." He stopped, started over with a different approach. "Is he... ?"  
  
Catherine lowered her gaze and tried to hold back a smile.  
  
"Yeah, looks like he is."  
  
"Ok." A pause as he looked around uncomfortably. "Look, it's none of my business. I just... I'm surprised, that's all."  
  
"I know. Me too."     
                                              
He nodded, picked up his kit.  
  
"So, are we ready to get out of here?"  
  
"Yeah... Listen, why don't you pack things up while I go and find Lady Heather... let her know we're out of her hair."  
  
"Sure. I'll meet you outside."          
  
Catherine made her way down the stairs and into the front hall to find Madeline talking to several of the other employees.  
  
"Excuse me," she began, addressing the younger blonde. "Do you know where I can find Lady Heather?"  
  
Madeline gestured toward a door on her left.  
  
"Thanks," Catherine offered, moving toward the sitting room.   
  
She found Lady Heather standing at a window, looking out at the bright yellow crime scene tape blocking off her front lawn. The brunette turned to face her with a somber expression as she came into the room.   
  
"Am I disturbing you?" Cath asked.  
  
"Not at all. Come in."  
  
"I suppose Grissom's gone back to the lab?"  
  
"The morgue."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Heather inclined her head in acknowledgment.  
  
"What can I do for you?" she asked, after a moment. "Is there something you need?"   
  
"No, there's nothing." Catherine replied. "Actually, I was just coming to let you know we're getting ready to leave."  
  
"That was fast."  
  
"You made it easy." She studied the woman in front of her, hesitant to break off the conversation.   
  
"Go ahead," Heather smiled.  
  
In answer, Cath's lips curled into a sheepish grin, and she drew in a deep breath before proceeding.  
  
"I've known Grissom a long time," she began, "and I don't think I've ever seen him so... accessible."   
          
"It's not a comfortable state for him."  
  
"_That's_ an understatement." The comment was preceded by a subdued snort.  
  
"Are you asking how?"  
  
"No. I just..." she trailed off and her eyes narrowed. "You seemed... reserved earlier."  
  
"Your concern is understandable, but it's misplaced."  
  
"Penance?" Catherine ventured.  
          
The dominatrix arched an eyebrow and laced her fingers together in front of her.  
  
"I'm sure you know how much Gil values his privacy."  
  
"Yes," Cath admitted. "I do." Her tone was one of concession, but she did not break eye contact.  
  
Heather nodded her approval and rewarded the other woman with a slightly more forthcoming answer.  
  
"Let's just say we're still... negotiating our boundaries."  
  
The blonde relaxed a little, allowing herself an indulgent smile, and shook her head slowly.  
  
"You have my sympathies," she smirked.   
  
The two women exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Heather offered comment.  
  
"It's actually refreshing to meet a man who _isn't_ easy."  
  
"Well then, Grissom is your guy."  
  
Lady Heather seemed to consider this for a moment, and a satisfied gleam came into her deep green eyes as she spoke.  
  
"I believe so."  
  
Catherine's eyebrows went up and she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again without a word. What more was there to say?  
                          
                                  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
Warrick Brown was coming back from the lab when he looked in on Sara and noticed she was working with the cast of the footprint they'd found at Lady Heather's.  
  
"Any luck?" he asked, coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder.  
  
"Yes and no... I managed to match the brand. It's too common to be of any real use. Sold across the country at almost any department store you'd like to name."  
  
"Great."          
  
"Yeah... but the wear pattern _is_ distinctive, so it should be possible to confirm a match."  
  
She pointed out several markings on the cast, including what looked like a cut along the heel that interrupted the treads criss-crossing the sole.  
  
"Now all we gotta do is find a suspect," Warrick sighed.   
  
She registered something in his tone and looked up with a question in her eyes.  
  
"How did things go at the morgue?"  
  
"Great," he began, voice dripping with sarcasm. "This vic was beaten as bad as any I've ever seen, and the guy did it all with his bare hands. Looks like she'd been abused for awhile, too."  
  
"Well, given where she works, I don't see how you can tell if... "  
  
"Nope." He cut her off. "Apparently she spent most of her time online... plus, she wasn't submissive, so..."  
  
"So she had a boyfriend who likes to hit women."  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
"Have we talked to this guy?"  
  
"That's just it. Vic just moved here, so whoever the guy is, he isn't local."  
  
"That doesn't mean he didn't follow her here."  
  
Warrick shrugged.  
  
"Brass is running a background check. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what he digs up before we know the next move."  
  
"You know if Greg has anything?"  
  
"Not yet. Just dropped off a couple of samples from Doc Robbins. He didn't seem too happy to see me."  
  
Sara smiled.  
  
"He's feeling over-worked tonight."  
  
"When is he not?"  
  
"Good question. Cath and Nick got back awhile ago, so he's already got plenty to process."  
  
Warrick nodded, a vaguely evil smirk curling his lips.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Last I heard, Grissom was on his way to speed things up down there."  
  
"Greg should love _that_."  
  
Warrick studied her.  
  
"You don't seem too happy about it either," he observed.  
  
"I'm just... surprised by Grissom's level of involvement."  
                                                  
"With the case, or with Lady Heather?"   
  
She shot him a look that said he was on dangerous ground.  
  
"Both, actually. Can we talk about something else?" she asked with a forced smile.  
  
"Ah... I've gotta run. I'm headed out to process the vic's apartment."  
  
"Good luck," she muttered, returning her attention to the plaster cast in front of her.  
  
"Yeah, thanks."  
  
  
_Feedback is always appreciated._   
  



	11. Part 11

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

Jim Brass was on his way to Grissom's office when he caught sight of the CSI coming along the hallway from the direction of the DNA lab.  
  
"Hey, Grissom."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Anything?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Sanders kick you out?" the detective asked with a smirk.  
  
"No," Grissom replied firmly. Then after a moment, "But he wanted to."  
  
"Can't say that I blame him."  
  
Grissom eyed his friend with more than a little irritation.  
  
"What about _you_? Background check turn up anything interesting?"  
  
"Funny you should ask. I was just on my way to your office to fill you in."  
  
Grissom cocked his head, arching a single eyebrow as he entered his office with Brass on his heels.  
  
"Well, here we are." He turned, fixing the other man with an expectant stare. "What have you got?"  
  
"Well..." Brass moved to sit in one of the chairs facing Grissom's desk, while Grissom perched on a corner of the desk itself. "Lyla was from Louisiana, town called Angola. Her real name is Rodener. Morgan is her mother's maiden name."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And Ms. Rodener was _not_ the only person listed on the lease for her home in Angola."  
  
"Husband?"  
  
"Looks more like a live-in boyfriend..." Here he consulted a small notebook. "... a Mr. Marcus DeJoie."  
  
"Does the boyfriend have a record?"  
  
"Suspended sentence on an assault charge."  
  
"Lyla?"  
  
"Nope. Some guy in a bar fight."  
  
Grissom's lips pursed as he considered this information.  
  
"You think he's our perp?"  
  
Brass shrugged.  
  
"Who knows... I hope so. We're running out of leads."  
  
"Have you contacted local law enforcement?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm waiting for a call back from a Lt. Freiberg. In the meantime, I thought I might take Warrick over for a look around our vic's apartment."  
  
"Sounds good. Let me know what you turn up."  
  
"Sure." A pause. "Should I look for you here... or will I have better luck at Lady Heather's?"  
  
Grissom offered the detective an innocent smile.  
  
"Why don't you just try my cell phone?"  
  
Brass rose from his chair, nodding.  
  
"I thought so."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
Greg Sanders was just finishing up another sample when Nick walked into the lab.  
  
"Hey."  
  
The lab tech turned on him before he could say another word.  
  
"Look, I told Grissom I'd have the results as soon as possible," he snapped. "You know, it might go a little faster if you'd stop interrupting me to tell me to speed things up."  
  
Nick held up his hands.  
  
"Chill out, man. I just stuck my head in to say goodnight. I'm on my way home."  
  
"Home?" Greg eyed him with suspicion, but his tone was considerably calmer. "Isn't it a little early to be cutting out?"  
  
Nick shrugged.  
  
"It's supposed to be my night off. Grissom called me in to help with the collection. Everything else is under control, so he told me to go home."  
  
"I wish he'd tell _me_ to go home," Greg sighed.  
  
Nick grinned.  
  
"At the risk of getting my head chewed off again... how's it coming?"  
  
"It's coming."  
  
"I'm guessing Gris is riding you?"  
  
Greg shot him a look.  
  
"That's an understatement. He is really wound tight over this one." Nick looked down, shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I guess it's true."  
  
"What's true?"  
  
"He's... friendly with the dom?"  
  
Nick grew even more uncomfortable.  
  
"That's what I hear."  
  
"So, what's she like?"  
  
"She's... pretty, I guess. Seems smart enough. She's just a little... extreme for my taste." He shifted again, obviously not enjoying the task of assessing Grissom's lady friend. "_You'd_ probably love her," he added.   
  
Greg grinned.  
  
"What's not to love about a dominatrix?"  
  
"Well, somebody had a problem with one. Look, man, I should get out of here, let you get back to work. Grissom will kill me if I hold you up."  
  
"Oh sure, go home. I'll just stay here and work until I collapse from exhaustion."  
  
"Goodnight, Greg." Nick grinned and turned for the door.  
  
"What's good about it?" the lab tech muttered, turning back to his work.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
Gil Grissom sat at his desk trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him. He would not allow himself to go back to the DNA lab for an update on Greg's progress. He was anxious to examine the test results, though he suspected that Heather was right about what he would find. He had, in fact, intended to stay and wait for Greg to finish, but his presence had made the younger man nervous enough that Grissom feared he was only prolonging the wait. So here he was, trying with little success to will his current restlessness into calm.   
  
He wanted to _do_ something to resolve this, to ensure Heather's safety. His self-imposed status as an observer on this case was maddening. He was also impatient, he realized, to see her again, reassure himself that she would remain unharmed. This eagerness to leave the crime lab to return to her was completely alien to him - and he wasn't entirely convinced that concern for her safety was his sole motivation.   
  
He found himself staring past the report in his hands, brooding on this new-found flaw in his self-control when Greg Sanders finally appeared in the doorway. He barked out the question as soon as he registered the other man's presence.  
  
"What have you got for me, Greg?"  
  
"Well," Sanders began, moving into the room to stand in front of Grissom's desk, "ordinarily, I wouldn't just come in here and _whip_ out the results. As you know, I like to make a presentation..." He paused with a grin, even though his boss was obviously not amused. "... especially when I've been _chained_ to the lab, _slaving_ over a test tube...or tubes in this case." His grin slipped a bit, brows furrowing. "... many tubes."  
  
Grissom leaned forward in his chair, lips pursed and eyes growing hard.  
  
"Greg..." The warning note in his voice was unmistakable.  
  
"Ok." The lab tech patted the air with one hand in a calming gesture. "I'm getting there."   
  
"Get there faster."  
  
"Only one match, and it's the one you were expecting." He handed his printouts across the desk. "The DNA from the cigarette butts matches the samples from your victim's nails. Other than that, I got nothing."  
  
Grissom arched an eyebrow.   
  
"I wouldn't say nothing, Greg. You've just eliminated a couple dozen suspects."  
  
Greg smiled. That was the closest Grissom got to praise.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
After checking in with Catherine, Grissom finally admitted that there wasn't any more he could do for the moment. She pointed out that it was his night off and they could reach him by phone. It took very little to convince him, really.  
  
When he got back to Lady Heather's Dominion, he was met at the door by Madeline. She informed him that Lady Heather had asked her to show him upstairs when he arrived. The house was unusually quiet. Madeline filled the short journey to Lady Heather's rooms with a steady stream of chatter, beginning with an explanation that most of the staff had already left for the night.   
  
He found Heather in front of a fire in her sitting room. She was settled on a plush chaise, feet tucked underneath her, staring into the flames. She looked up when he entered the room and motioned for him to join her.  
  
"Any news?"  
  
"Nothing definitive yet." A pause. "No DNA match from your staff or clients... though I'm sure that doesn't surprise you." She smiled but said nothing, waiting for him to go on. He moved further into the room as he spoke. "There was some evidence of abuse suggested by the autopsy. Brass turned up a boyfriend in Angola, Louisiana, and last I heard, he was headed out with Warrick to process Lyla's apartment."  
  
"And you?"  
  
His eyes grew hard for a moment and then softened as he shrugged and sat at the foot of the chaise, a hand resting along her legs.  
  
"There's nothing more I can do for now. It's up to the evidence, and I'm not in a position to handle evidence on this."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and offered him an almost apologetic look.   
  
"I know that's frustrating for you."  
  
"Yes." He produced a lopsided smile. "But it does allow me to check on you."  
  
She returned the smile.  
  
"You don't need to worry about me."  
  
"I don't seem to be able to help myself."   
  
Her eyebrows arched, and her smile widened.  
  
"You surprised me tonight."  
  
"I surprised myself tonight," he admitted.  
  
She fixed him with a gaze that made him feel completely exposed, and he searched for something to ease his sudden discomfort. He gestured to the silk robe she had changed into.   
  
"I see you've already made up your mind about staying here tonight."  
  
She had the grace to look contrite.  
  
"Gil, I'm exhausted. Between the jet lag and Lyla, I just ..."  
  
He held up a hand to stop her protest.  
  
"It's alright. I know the feeling. I was coming off a double shift when Brass called me out here."  
  
"He called you?"  
  
"He's not blind, Heather."  
  
"No," she conceded. "but I get the distinct impression that he doesn't exactly approve."  
  
"I believe he finds your profession... disconcerting."  
  
"Most people do."  
  
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he tilted his head in acknowledgment.   
  
"_You're_ surprisingly sanguine," she observed.  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"You'd be surprised how many people find _my_ line of work disconcerting."  
  
"It's easier to ignore what's beneath the surface."   
  
She watched his lips quirk into a rueful smile, then her eyes found his. Silence settled over them, comfortable at first but growing strained as Grissom cast about for the words to move the conversation to more difficult ground.  
  
"Heather..."   
  
She shifted her position, leaning forward and placing a hand over his lips.  
  
"It's been a long day. It can wait until morning."  
  
She held his eyes with hers and brought herself closer. After a moment he felt her fingers trail along his lips, then felt the warmth of her mouth as it covered his. He pulled her against him, heard her low moan as he deepened the kiss.  
  
Talk, he agreed, could definitely wait until morning.  
  
  
                        

_Feedback is always appreciated._


	12. Part 12

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.   
Author's Note: Many thank yous to Laurie for beta reading and general encouragment! _

**Fair Terms and a Villain's Mind**   
_Hannah_ **_Part 12_** Warrick Brown sighed as he closed up his field kit and stood to survey the sparse apartment. Was he missing anything? He couldn't imagine what there might be here to miss. He'd fingerprinted all of the obvious surfaces, but doubted he had any prints other than the victim's. Those prints, he thought, seemed to be the only indication that Lyla Morgan had lived here. The apartment showed signs of occupancy, but very little spoke to the specific presence of it's owner. Flea market furniture in neutral colors, blank walls, no photos or keepsakes. Even the kitchen held only the most basic staples. Several corsets, leather and PVC skirts, and stiletto heels in the closet among the more ordinary clothing were the only clue that they were even in the right apartment.  
  
Jim Brass stood by the door, watching Brown expectantly.  
  
"Are we done here?"  
  
Warrick gave the room another look before shrugging and turning to the detective.  
  
"Yeah, why not? There's nothing here. Hell, I've even looked through the garbage," he added, stooping to retrieve his kit. "You get anything from the landlady? What was her name?"  
  
"Pulasky." Brass shook his head. "Just that our vic was quiet, kept to herself. No visitors."  
  
"Figures," Warrick muttered. "So where does that leave us?"  
  
"Hoping like hell that we can put the boyfriend here in Vegas."  
  
Warrick nodded and moved toward the door, following Brass through it as he stepped out into the hallway.  
  
"When do you expect to hear from your contact in Louisiana?"  
  
"My bet is not before morning."  
  
"So I guess that's it for now?"  
  
"Looks like it... unless you got any ideas."  
  
"Excuse me?" Both men turned to find an elderly woman in a flannel bathrobe and furry slippers standing in the open doorway of the apartment across from Lyla's. "You're with the police, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Brass offered. "Can we help you?"  
  
"Is that young woman alright?"  
  
"Are you a friend of hers?" the detective asked, avoiding the woman's question for the moment.  
  
"Not really what you'd call a friend, no. We speak when we see each other in the hall. She's really a very sweet girl, but terribly shy. She hardly says more than a pleasant hello, but she helps me with my groceries from time to time. I do hope she's alright?"   
  
"I'm sorry," Brass answered finally. "I'm afraid she was beaten to death earlier tonight."  
  
"Oh dear!" The woman's hand fluttered to her chest and tears glistened in her eyes. "I guess that explains why you're here, doesn't it? Lyla usually works nights." She paused for a moment, a distressed expression clouding her features, then looked up suddenly. "This doesn't have anything to do with that pickup truck, does it?"  
  
She suddenly had Brass's full attention.  
  
"What truck is that, Ma'am?"   
  
"Well, I like to look out my window," she began, distracted for the moment from the shock of her young neighbor's death, "and for the past few days I've seen a strange truck parked outside on the street. It always seems to be there during the day, but it's gone at night."  
  
"When did you first notice the truck?"  
  
"Several days ago." She thought for a moment. "I think it was Sunday that I first saw it."  
  
"Can you describe it for me?"  
  
"Of course. It's a dark blue Chevrolet pickup. It looks old... very dusty. It could really use a good car wash. I was afraid it might be someone planning to break into the apartments, since the driver seemed to be watching the building. You're going to think I'm a crazy old woman, but I even wrote down the license number."  
  
"I don't think you're crazy at all."  
  
The woman beamed at him.  
  
" I told Mrs. Pulasky about it all, but she thinks I watch too many police shows on tv."  
  
"Could you give me that license number?"  
  
"Yes. Just let me go and get it." She turned back into her apartment, leaving the detective and Warrick to exchange a hopeful look, and returned almost immediately. "Where are my manners? Please, come in."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs...?"  
  
"Foster. Eileen Foster, Officer..."  
  
"Brass. And this is Warrick Brown, from the crime lab."  
  
"It's nice to meet you both. Make yourselves comfortable while I go and get that number for you."   
  
Their hostess disappeared into an adjacent room and returned a few moments later with a slip of paper. She handed it to Brass.  
  
"Here it is."  
  
_XJP2954_  
  
"This is a Nevada plate?" the detective asked.  
  
"Oh, no. That's another strange thing. It's not from around here at all. It said Louisiana. Does that mean anything?"  
  
"It might," the detective said. "I don't suppose you got a look at the driver?"  
  
"Not really. It was a man, I know that much. He has a beard, and he always wears a baseball cap, but that's really all I could see."  
  
"Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?"  
  
"I doubt it, Officer. I'm sorry, but I've only seen glimpses of him. You don't think he could have hurt Lyla?"  
  
"I think that might be a possibility, yes. When was the last time you saw the truck here?"  
  
"This afternoon. I noticed he was there about 3 or 4 o'clock, and when I looked after I came back in from the laundry room, he was gone."  
  
"What time was that?"  
  
"It was almost 6:30. I went down right after dinner. I ran into Lyla in the elevator going down, actually. She was on her way to work." Fresh tears formed in her eyes as she was struck once again with the tragedy of the young woman's death.  
  
"Mrs. Foster, is there anything else you could tell us... anything you might have noticed besides the truck?"  
  
She shook her head as she reached for a tissue.  
  
"No. Nothing else. I'm sorry."  
  
"That's alright. You've been a big help already." He reached into his pocket for a business card. "I want you to call me if you see that truck here again, Mrs. Foster. Can you do that?"  
  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
  
Sara Sidle was alone in the break room, staring into a cold cup of tea, when Catherine came in searching for coffee. The blonde took in Sara's mood and decided to try a bit of light conversation.  
  
"The night certainly slowed down."  
  
"Huh?" Sara started. "Oh, yeah. It's dead. Where did everybody go?"  
  
"Nick went home. Greg is back to the overflow from day shift... and bitching about it to anyone who wants to listen. And, as far as I know, Brass and Warrick are still out at our vic's apartment."  
  
"And Grissom?"  
  
Catherine's lips pursed, and she looked away from the question in the younger woman's eyes.  
Sara's jaw clenched, her lips forming a tight line.  
  
"What's she like?"  
  
"Lady Heather?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Sara..."  
  
"What's she like, Catherine?"  
  
The blond's eyebrows arched and she drew in a deep breath.  
  
"She's... smart, strong, insightful. You've seen her, so you know she's gorgeous..." Catherine trailed off, studied her companion for a long moment. "What you really want to know is why her."  
  
Sara's head snapped up and there was a brief flash of anger in her eyes, quickly replaced by a resigned sadness.  
  
"I guess it is."  
  
Catherine sighed, her features softening into an affectionate smile.  
  
"Sara, it's Grissom. Who knows why he does _anything_."  
  
Sara attempted a small grin.  
  
"Nice try."  
  
Catherine shrugged.  
  
"She's enigmatic enough to intrigue him, and direct enough to challenge him."  
  
The young brunette considered this for a moment before fixing her with an accusing stare.  
  
"You like her."  
  
"Yes," Catherine admitted. "I do."  
  
Sara folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head.  
  
"I just... I don't..." she stopped, throwing her hands up and letting them fall to her sides.  
  
Cath took a deep breath, watching Sara warily as she began to speak.  
  
"Sara.... there's just nothing there." She looked up as though Catherine had slapped her. "I'm sorry. I know it's not what you want to hear, but you might want to make peace with this." A pause. "Grissom is serious about her."  
  
Sara turned away, mouth set in a hard line. When she spoke, her voice was strained. She did not turn around.  
  
"I shouldn't have brought it up."  
  
"Sara..."  
  
"Don't, Catherine."   
  
"Pretending it's not there won't make it go away."   
  
"Look, I know you're trying to help, but... just don't. Okay?"  
  
Cath studied Sara's back for a long moment, then shrugged.   
  
"Okay. Whatever you want." A pause. Her only reply was a cold silence. "You know where I am if you need me."  
  
With that, Cath turned and moved to the door. She stopped at the threshold to look back over her shoulder before leaving the other woman alone with her thoughts.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
  
Grissom lay awake in the darkened room. The soft light from the dying fire cast shadows that flickered across the ceiling, and he stared at them absently, more aware of the warmth of Heather's body against him. Her head rested on his chest, the dark silk of her hair caressing his skin. It occurred to him that he hadn't been content since the last time she had been in his arms like this, and he promised himself that he wouldn't disappoint her again. He was about to whisper that same promise aloud when the sharp ring of his cell phone cut through the silence. He had to think for a long moment before remembering where it was and then gently disengaged himself from Heather and moved to the foot of the bed, feeling about on the floor for his discarded jacket and pulling the phone from its pocket.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"Gil." Brass's voice came across the line. "I know it's late... or early, I guess... but I thought you'd want this news right away."  
  
"What have you got?"  
  
"You sound sleepy," the detective chuckled. "Did I wake you?"  
  
"No. What have you got?"  
  
"I'm not interrupting anything else, am I?"  
  
"Jim..."  
  
"Alright. Just checking." Grissom could almost see the smirk. "Nothing of any interest at the vic's apartment - unless I'm mistaken about the fingerprints Warrick collected - but there was a neighbor... little old lady with too much time on her hands."  
  
"And enough curiosity to do us some good?"  
  
"You got it. Says she's seen a strange truck in front of the apartment building for the last several days. Afraid somebody was casing the place and wrote down the license number. Wanna guess where it's from?"  
  
"Louisiana."  
  
"Got it in one."  
  
"You've run it, I assume?"  
  
"You assume right. The vehicle is registered to Marcus DeJoie."  
  
"And have you spoken to Mr. DeJoie's local law enforcement yet?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I have. Lt. Freiberg of West Feliciana Parish informs me that Mr. DeJoie works at a local body shop. He's going to call me in a few hours after the place opens up. I'm guessing his boss is going to confirm that he's taking some vacation time."  
  
"So Lyla _was_ the target."  
  
"That's the way it looks. I'd say your girlfriend seems to be out of the picture here."  
  
"Good." A pause. "Thanks."  
  
"Anytime. No leads on our suspect as yet, but I do have an APB out on the truck."  
  
"Keep me posted."  
  
"Yeah." A chuckle. "Enjoy the rest of your night off." And he ended the call before Grissom could respond.  
  
The CSI sighed and flipped his phone shut, then turned to Heather who was sitting up and watching him with interest.  
  
"Looks like you were right. It seems Detective Brass can place the boyfriend's car outside Lyla's apartment."  
  
"That's progress."  
  
"Mmmm." He moved back up the bed and settled himself next to her. "Looks like I don't need to worry about you anymore."  
                                          
"Does that mean you'll be leaving?" she asked, a playful glint in her deep green eyes.  
  
Grissom leaned in close to her, weaving his fingers through her hair.   
  
"Hardly."  
  
He felt the smile curve along her lips as he claimed them with his and pushed her back into the pillows.  
  
  
                        


	13. Part 13

_Disclaimer: As always, I don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with._

**Fair Terms and a Villain's Mind**   
_Hannah_ **_Part 13_** Gil Grissom woke to find himself alone. He raised himself up, searching for any sign of Heather in the bedroom or through the wide arch in the sitting room. With a sigh at his lack of success, he allowed himself to fall back onto the small mountain of feather pillows that still held her scent, smiling as it conjured a memory of the beautiful brunette in his arms several hours before.  
  
He found her downstairs in the sun room, setting a table for breakfast. Leaning against the door frame, he watched her for a moment before taking a deep breath and stepping across the threshold. His voice was soft when he spoke, hardly above a whisper.  
  
"Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned."   
  
She looked up at him, an elegant eyebrow arching as the ghost of a smile played across her lips.  
  
"Yeats," she said, echoing his own words from several weeks previous. "Prayer for My Daughter."  
  
"Or our morning?"  
  
Emerald eyes held a hint of amusement that belied the serious note in her voice when she spoke again.  
  
"You should consider yourself fortunate. I'm not a woman who offers second chances."  
  
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, lips pursing as he regarded her with sudden hesitancy.  
  
"Why start now?" he asked, voice still soft, unsure.  
  
"I suspect for the same reason you're here."  
  
He held her gaze and advanced on her deliberately, stopping when they were only inches apart and forcing himself to be direct when he spoke.  
  
"I'm here because I seem to be at a loss without you."  
  
  
She offered him a brilliant smile, then lowered her gaze and moved away from him, returning her attention to the table. She did not speak again until they were seated across from one another.  
  
"How long were you planning to wait?" she asked, fixing him with a direct stare.   
  
His eyes went to the cup and saucer in front of him.  
  
"I'm not sure," he admitted. When he looked up, her eyes were there to meet his, her expression expectant. His eyes wandered away from her again as he went on. "You were right. I am afraid of you." His gaze returned to hers. "I'm not in control with you."  
  
"Our fears often mask desires." She waited while he tilted his head, considering, and went on only when his eyes once again found hers. "Relinquishing control is about trust."  
  
"That's not one of my strengths."   
  
"Nor is it one of mine... but it's what you're asking me to do."  
  
"Yes, I am." A humorless laugh escaped him. "And I certainly haven't done anything to make it easier for you."  
  
"No," she conceded. "You haven't."  
  
They regarded one another for several moments, Grissom's lips pursed as he considered his next words.  
  
"Heather... I can't promise you that I won't make any more mistakes."  
  
"Of course you can't." She offered him a soft smile. "I don't expect you to be perfect." A pause. "Avoidance is strongly ingrained for you. I understand that, and I'm willing to be patient... as long as you're willing to make an effort." A warning note crept into her voice. "I will _not_ be abandoned every time a situation becomes difficult. I'm as uncomfortable with vulnerability as you are, and I refuse to be alone in willing to risk it."  
  
He met her challenging stare with no hesitation this time.  
  
"You won't be. That I _can_ promise you."  
  
She smiled at him then, but there was steel in her eyes.  
  
"I intend to hold you to it."   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
Sara slumped against the door of her apartment as soon as it was closed behind her, finally allowing the tears she'd been fighting since seeing Grissom with... that woman.  
  
Thoughts that she had tried to ignore for most of the night rushed through her head, tumbling over each other...  
  
_Now you know why he turned you down. Could you have made a bigger fool of yourself?  
  
How can she be what Grissom wants?  
She spends her life selling fantasies to freaks, for Chrissakes!  
  
What the fuck did he mean, 'Do we have a problem?' How can he ask me that?  
  
Which case?   
Could he have been seeing her for over a year without any of us knowing?  
  
Catherine likes her. She's probably known about this all along.  
  
She's beautiful.   
  
She was a murder suspect! What happened to all that preaching about personal involvement with our cases?  
  
Oh God, is he in love with her?  
  
She kissed him... in the middle of a crime scene, in front of police and his team... she kissed him. And he allowed it. He wanted it.  
  
I wonder who...   
Stop it! Get control of yourself._  
  
A scream of frustration escaped her as she slammed a fist back against the door.  
She could pound the door all day long, break everything in her apartment, and that still wouldn't change anything.  
  
Catherine was right. It was obvious that Grissom was serious about the dominatrix. He was so closed off with everyone around him... but not, apparently, with _Lady Heather_. Sara had seen the way Grissom looked at her... even from a distance, the naked quality of his gaze had been evident. In her most extreme fantasies of Grissom, Sara had never dared hope that he might allow her to see so much of him.   
  
Why should it be Lady Heather?  
She forced out a trembling sigh and allowed herself to slide to the floor, head in her hands.  
  
It didn't really matter why, did it? Grissom obviously wanted this woman. Knowing why wouldn't change that. Whatever she'd thought or imagined, whatever she'd hoped for, the reality was simple... Grissom wasn't interested in her, and she couldn't pretend any longer.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       
  
  
  
Jim Brass once again found himself working a double shift. At least this one had a certain amount of interest to it. Watching Gil Grissom the previous night had been fascinating. He'd known the enigmatic scientist for some time, but could never have predicted Gil's reaction to this case. He still thought his friend was getting more than he bargained for with the dominatrix, but now he wasn't so sure that was a bad thing. Not that he would admit it any time soon...  
  
He should call Grissom. He'd heard from Lt. Freiberg, confirming that Marcus DeJoie was taking some vacation time from his job and had not been present at his residence in Angola when officers had gone out to pay him a visit. Come to think of it, there was no reason to interfere with Grissom's morning. Maybe he'd wait awhile, go out and have some breakfast before he got in touch with the CSI. It was still early, and there was really nothing new to report yet, not until they found the truck... if they found it. DeJoie could be half way back to the Gulf by now. 

_ Feedback is always most appreciated._

                        


	14. Part 14

_Disclaimer: As always, I don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with._

Grissom made a quick stop at his townhouse for a change of clothes and was on his way in to find Brass when his phone rang.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Your parking lot. What have you got?"  
  
"The truck. Don't get comfortable, I'll be right out."  
  
The detective cut off the call and Grissom flipped his phone shut, pulling up in front of the entrance and waiting for Brass to emerge.  
  
"You look well rested." Brass smirked, as he climbed into the Tahoe.  
  
"Do I?" The CSI arched an eyebrow. "Where is it?"  
  
"The truck? The parking lot of a flea bag motel on 93, just outside Henderson. I've got a black and white on it, but they have orders not to move until I get there... unless the scumbag tries to leave."  
  
"We got a warrant?'  
  
"Yeah... and Warrick's on the way out there with Catherine."  
  
"And what exactly is it that you need me for?"  
  
"Nothing... but I thought you might like to get in on this anyway."  
  
Grissom offered the detective a lopsided grin.  
  
"You know how I hate to be left out."  
  
"Yeah," Brass snorted. "That's it." He studied his friend's profile for a moment. "So," he asked casually, "how was the rest of your night off?"  
  
Grissom pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.  
  
"Fine. Yours?"  
  
Brass arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Busy. I was running around trying to catch this guy while you were off..." His lips quirked into an evil smirk. "... tying up your loose ends."  
  
"The city appreciates your dedication." Blue eyes twinkled as he glanced over at his passenger and grinned. "Let's run down what we've got on this guy."  
  
"Well, we've got a witness that can place the truck outside the vic's apartment, so he can't claim he didn't know she was here. Suspect has a history of violence. With any luck we'll get a DNA match, and there's no problem with motive. It's pretty cut and dried. She runs off and leaves the guy. He tracks her down, follows her out here... stalks her for a few days, probably gets even more pissed off when he finds out where she's working, then she ends up on a slab in the morgue. All we've gotta do is bring him in and connect the dots."

  
  
"Alright, we've got to stop for coffee."  
  
Warrick glanced over at the tired blonde in the passenger seat and smiled.  
  
"I hear you. Gotta love these double shifts."  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes.  
  
"The only person I know who loves this much overtime is Sara... and she was out the door the minute the shift was over this morning."  
  
"I noticed that. She wasn't very happy last night."  
  
"I don't think she's going to be very happy anytime soon."  
  
Warrick sighed heavily.  
  
"Yeah, I feel kinda sorry for her."  
  
"I know what you mean... but it had to happen sometime."  
  
Warrick nodded but offered no immediate verbal response. When he did speak, he moved from talk of their sullen colleague to a far more interesting topic.  
  
"So, he's serious isn't he?"  
  
"Yep. He's definitely serious."  
  
"You like her?"  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
Warrick nodded again as he pulled into the parking lot of a diner on his right and cut the engine. Catherine had her door open before he could move to get out.  
  
"I'll go. You want anything but coffee?"  
  
"I'm good."  
  
Cath smiled over her shoulder and shut the door, then headed into the diner for two strong black coffees. It was going to be a long morning.


	15. Part 15

_Disclaimer: As always... not mine, just borrowed them to play with. _

Jim Brass was in Unit 6 of the Jackpot Motor Inn with Marcus DeJoie by the time Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown arrived. Mr. De Joie was not inclined to be cooperative, fighting the handcuffs and insisting that he didn't have to answer any questions.

"You can't just come in here and arrest me with nothing," he was yelling as Brass led him out to the waiting squad car. He jerked his head in the direction of Catherine and Warrick, who, along with Gil Grissom, were peering into the open bed of his pickup truck. "Stay away from my truck!" He looked back at Brass. "Keep your people away from my truck, Mister. I didn't see no warrant!"

"I've got probable cause." Brass smiled as he bent the suspect's head forward and guided him into the back of the squad car. He slammed the door, looking through the window at his agitated prisoner with a smug smile. "Don't go away," he said. "I'll be right back." He went over to the truck to join the CSI's. "How do you wanna do this?" he asked Grissom.

"We'll start with the truck. Do an initial sweep for anything you think might be immediately relevant..." He nodded towards the length of chain in the open bed of the pickup. "... like that, for a start. Then have it towed back to the lab for a thorough work up." Warrick nodded at his boss while Brass leaned over to get a look at the object of Grissom's attention.

"I love it when the perps are stupid," the detective said to no one in particular. "It's makes the job almost too easy."

"Cath, you take the room." Grissom turned away from her as she bent to pull a pair of latex gloves from her kit muttering, _"I'm on it."_ He turned back to Brass. "I'm no good here, so I guess I'll go back with you and our new friend." He turned back to his team. "The minute you get back."

"You got it," Catherine assured him.

* * *

Warrick Brown pulled on his own set of latex gloves and snapped several photos. He then bent down, reaching into his kit for a swab and leaned back into the bed of the truck to run it along one of the links of the chain. He was not in the least surprised when the addition of phenolphtalein to the swab caused it to turn the familiar pink that allowed him to conclude that the presumptive test was positive for blood. He lifted the out the length of chain and bagged it, then turned back to the bed of the truck. Nothing else of note here, other than a box of outdoor trash bags that could have been used for a little cleanup. He bagged those and turned his attention to the vehicle's interior, moving forward to the cab and leaning in through the driver's side door. He bagged a package of cigarettes, and several butts from the ashtray. The floor was littered with several crumpled take out bags and empty cups. He would deal with those back at the lab. Nothing else immediately caught his eye. When they got this baby back to the garage, he would dust for prints and spritz the floorboards and upholstery with a little luminol. Chances are, the guy had blood all over him after that beating, and Warrick expected to find quite a bit here. The dark CSI decided that he had accomplished all that he wished to for the moment and called for the tow truck. He waited with the truck while Cath processed Unit 6.

She found a duffel bag with several changes of underwear and a couple of shirts, basic toiletries, a few socks. Everything was thrown in with little care for organized packing. _"Looks like he decided to take his little trip in a hurry,"_ she muttered to herself. At the bottom of the bag, she found a worn creased piece of paper with a photo that looked like it had been printed from a computer. It was Lyla in PVC and heavy makeup. _"And I bet I know why. Did you find this yourself, or did one of your buddies show it to you?"_ she wondered aloud. _"Should've been more careful, Lyla."_ Catherine bagged what she had, then moved into the bathroom. She swabbed the sink and floor of the shower stall - both positive for blood - and looked around. Something wasn't quite right... no towels, just a washcloth by the sink that looked as though it hadn't been touched. She bagged it anyway and pulled out powders to dust the porcelain and fixtures for prints.

Cath was coming out of the room as Warrick was signing the pickup over to the team sent out to tow it in. He looked up from the clipboard with a smile.

"Find anything?"

"Plenty. You?"

"Yep. Chain tested positive for blood. Found a few cigarette butts and the rest of the package that I would bet will match the ones you found outside Lady Heather's. Box of trash bags that might be relevant..."

"Trash bags?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Find any towels?"

"No."

"Neither did I." She looked around, spotted what she had been searching for, then turned back to her partner. "Feel like checking the dumpsters?"

"Why not?" Warrick shrugged. "I got nothing better to do."

* * *

Jim Brass walked into the interrogation room with Nick Stokes on his heels.

"Bad news, Mr. DeJoie. I'm afraid the crime lab found a length of chain in your truck that has your girlfriend's blood all over it." De Joie said nothing. "Funny thing..." the detective continued, voice dripping with his usual sarcasm, "... but that chain is consistent with bruises from injuries Lyla suffered when she was beaten to death last night. Now, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"I'm not sayin' a word without talkin' to a lawyer."

"Your choice," Brass replied pleasantly enough. "But in the meantime, Mr. Stokes here is going to need those work boots..." He laid a warrant down on the table. "... and a sample of your DNA."

"I'm not givin' you shit," the prisoner insisted.

The smile never left the detective's face, and his voice remained pleasant, but a hardness came into his eyes as he spoke.

"That's where you're wrong. This warrant?" He leaned over and tapped the pages on the desk, purposely getting in the suspect's face as he did so. "It says different." He held the man's nervously defiant gaze with an implacable stare. "We can do this easy or hard... your choice." Brass neither moved, nor did he take his eyes from the increasingly flustered man in front of him.

"Fine, godammit!" It exploded from him as he bent to unlace the boots. Looking from his feet to the detective with the glare of a petulant child, he slammed each of them on the table in turn, then sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "Happy now?"

The detective smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Almost." He turned to the CSI, who was placing the boots in a large paper bag. "Nick?"

The Texan folded the top of the bag over and reached across the table for a swab. He turned back to DeJoie and offered him a winning smile, swab poised in front of his tightly closed mouth.

"Open wide..."


	16. Chapter 16

__

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just borrowed them to play with.

Author's Note: I apologize for taking so very long to finish this story. I needed a little break from CSI after they jumped the shark, but I've always wanted to see this story out to the end. Your patience is most appreciated.

Warrick Brown bent over a microscope, studying the tears along the edge of the end trash bag from the roll he found in Marcus DeJoie's pickup. He reached for the bag he was trying to match, the one he and Cath had found in the dumpster at the Jackpot Motor Lodge. Cath had taken charge of the blood-stained towels and clothing, delivering the samples to Greg's lab. Jackie in prints had managed to lift several partials from the bag itself, all matches to De Joie, and now Warrick smiled as he found that the perforated edges of the two bags were a perfect match.

"Three strikes, my man."

While Warrick was busy with the trash bags, Nick was having similar success with the work boots. The wear patterns and cut across the treads were definitely a match to the cast Sara took at the crime scene.

All that remained were Greg's results.

Once again, Gil Grissom found himself in his office, waiting for results from Greg Sanders' lab, though not with the same sense of urgency he had felt the previous night. The evidence thus far pointed to DeJoie, and Grissom felt certain the blood evidence would bear that out as well. At least DeJoie would have several hours to confer with his attorney while they waited for the results of the DNA tests to resume his interrogation. Unfortunately, this most likely would run past the end of shift.

Grissom tossed his glasses onto the desk and reached for his cell phone. He keyed in a series of numbers and waited for the familiar voice to pick up at the other end.

"This is Lady Heather. You may speak."

He shook his head and smiled at her greeting.

"Thank you, Lady Heather."

"Gil? News?"

"We've got the guy. Picked him up at a motel on the outskirts of town."

"Do you have a strong case?"

"Yes, we do. The evidence so far points to him. I'm just waiting for the DNA results to wrap things up here." A pause. "It might be awhile. I wanted to let you know I'll probably be late in the morning."

"That's thoughtful of you."

"There's no need to sound so surprised. I _do_ know how to make an effort."

"I suspected that was the case." He could almost see the amusement glinting in those lovely green eyes. "I'll be here."

"Heather..." He paused, unsure how to give voice to what he was thinking.

"I know," she said after a moment. Then, "I'll see you in the morning." She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper. "Try not to be too late. I have plans for you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." He flipped the phone shut, a smile spreading along his lips.

"And how is Lady Heather?"

He looked up to see Jim Brass leaning in the doorway.

"She's fine." He offered his friend a smile that was filled with mischief. "I'm sure she'd want me to offer her regards."

"I'm sure," the detective shot back with his characteristic dry sarcasm. "Anything from Sanders yet?"

Grissom shook his head.

"You can't rush DNA."

Brass shrugged, but said nothing.

"Are you gentlemen waiting for me, by any chance?" It was Greg Sanders, a sheaf of papers in hand.

"That was fast." Grissom's tone was cautious, his eyes narrowed.

"I gave it priority. I know you're in a hurry to wrap this one up. Or should I say _tie_ this one up?" He grinned at his boss. Grissom did not return the smile, simply stared at the younger man, head tilted at a disapproving angle.

"Greg, if you know I'm anxious, why keep me waiting?" His tone was reasonable enough, but the lab tech shifted nervously.

"Ok, " he began, moving closer to Grissom's desk, "your suspect's DNA is a match to the cigarette butts and the skin taken from under the victim's nails. And just to make things interesting, the blood from the chain and the truck are a match to your vic."

"What about the clothes and towels?" Brass asked.

"Also a match to the vic," Greg announced proudly. He dropped the printouts on Grissom's desk then turned his attention back to the detective. Brass smiled.

"Looks like our buddy just extended his Vegas vacation."

Grissom watched from the observation room while Brass went in to talk to their suspect and the lawyer from the Public Defender's office.

"Looks like you've been a busy guy since you got to Vegas," Brass began as he moved into the interrogation room.

"Detective," the public defender began, "just what is my client..."

Brass held up a hand and cut him off.

"Your client is under arrest for the murder of Lyla Morgan."

"You ain't got shit," DeJoie sneered.

"No?" Detecrtive Brass offered his perp a friendly smile. "Let's see... I've got an eyewitness that puts you outside Lyla's apartment. I've got DNA evidence that places you at the crime scene. I've got the victim's blood in your truck and on your clothes. I've got motive." At this, he slapped the internet photo of Lyla in PVC down onto the table in front of DeJoie and continued. "And, as a bonus, my CSIs found the murder weapon in your truck."

"What murder weapon?" DeJoie snarled, still staring at the picture of Lyla. "I beat that filthy bitch with my own hands!"

Brass leaned over to rest his hands on the table, and Marcus DeJoie finally looked up to see the smirk curling along the detective's lips.

"And now, it looks like I've got a confession."

DeJoie's eyes widened, and he finally clamped his mouth shut and sat back in his chair.

The public defender slumped next to him.

Grissom was greeted at the door of Lady Heather's Dominion by the Domina herself.

"Good morning, Mr. Grissom." She offered him a dazzling smile and stood aside to allow him inside.

"Good morning, Lady Heather." He moved past her into the entryway, then stopped and turned back to her as she shut the heavy door behind him.

"Would you care to join me for breakfast, Mr. Grissom?"

"I'd love to." He smiled and took a step towards her, reaching for her waist, but she side-stepped his outstretched arm and moved past him in the direction of the sunroom. She tossed the words back over her shoulder as he arched an eyebrow and turned to look after her.

"I thought we might discuss the matter of your penance over our morning tea."

FIN


End file.
